


Battle-Shocked

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, shell-shock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10870611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo helps her come back to herself.





	1. Chapter 1

She’s angry, mostly at herself. Things hadn’t gone to plan. They’d gone - and the crudity was necessary - to shit. Beyond. Everything that could have gone wrong _did_ , and she was lucky to walk away (limp, really) with as many of her troops as she had.

She’s angry, and that anger manifests in a jaw so tight that a master thief couldn’t unpick it, and tension like a set of claws raking her ribcage open. One eye twitches as she fights to calm herself, to drown out the echoes of explosions and screams. Breaking bones and shattered armour. Of…

“Tell me what you need,” he says, as he comes to stand behind her.  


For a moment, she’d forgotten he even existed, let alone was in the room. Her mind honed down to that one moment, playing over and over, out of context and adrift from the universe.

“I don’t know.”  


Fingers graze in the dip of her back, and she shudders at the touch. It’s not that it’s unpleasant, it’s just that it’s… too… _soft_. She’s not feeling soft. She’s feeling anything _but_ soft.

He steps behind her, and his hands rest on her hips. His fingers trail over the bones, his weight against her back.

“Do you want me to try?” he asks.  


By ‘try’ he means ‘try to guess what you need, and keep trying, until I get it right’. But he knows her well enough to get there pretty fast, most days, and she also knows he’d never ask for anything she wasn’t comfortable with.

Or… comfortable with _happening_. He’d definitely do things she wasn’t comfortable with _asking_ for, but that was another matter, entirely.

Another nod, and he starts to nudge her head to one side. His nose and lips find her pulse, but it’s. Not. _Enough_.

 **Harder**.

He gets the message, and he grinds against her ass, his fingers turning into her flesh so hard she bubbles underneath him, ready to boil. The grinding gets fiercer, and his lips go from soft to lies around his teeth. Sharp, and his suction causes pain to blossom up beautifully all across her throat.

The flush hits her chest, making it tingle. Her shoulders, throat, face… she sees the reflection in the transparisteel window, sees the way her eyes go dark in self-recognition. Her hands plant on the window, and she claws sharp noises into the surface.

 _Harder_.

He jabs a knee between her thighs, and she grinds down against it, feeling what she’s sure is the start of his arousal against her buttocks. His hands rip at her clothing, pulling the shirt up and over her head. She fights not to move her arms until the last, and when it comes off, he smacks a hand against her nape and crushes her face into the window.

 _Better_.

His teeth work hard, his kisses vicious as his growls. She _wants_ that. Wants to be remembered of how alive she is. Wants to be brought back from the distant place, made to recognise she survived.

Wants it to _hurt_.

His hands clutch at her breasts, kneading into the swells, her nipples trapped in her bra, and against the window. The knee pushes higher, and she tries to reach down to her belt, but he grabs her hands and slams them above her head.

A pause - he’s checking - and she gives the slightest nod. 

The other hand to her waist, and he pulls her belt open. His fingers slip under the front, and he pinches her lips shut from over the fabric of her panties. It’s harder than he normally is, but it’s not too hard for her to stop wanting. No, she takes the throb gratefully, letting it pound through her, and re-awaken distant caverns. 

Pinch, and a finger strokes all over the front of her panties, where she can feel the start of her slickness aching to gush out. His fingers keep her juices trapped inside, and the teasing is not - not - enough…

 _More, please_.

He pushes the fabric aside, his mouth working up to her earlobe. She can’t focus on so much at once, rubbing her own chest into the window, slipping her feet wider, welcoming the touches. 

Under, and through the close-trimmed curls. He rubs just above her clit, the pressure a deliberate tease. Phasma pushes against his hand, and gasps as one finger crooks between her lips. It flicks through her fast, and catches her clit on the way out. Back in, and it’s - it’s - _maddening_. She scratches the transparisteel to shrieking, and when he draws a ring around her widening hole, she’s nearly ready to beg.

Nearly.

“Tell me what you want,” he insists.  


“You.”  


“ _Tell me_.”  


“ **You**.”  


“ ** _Tell. Me_**.”  


She slams her forehead into the window, the better to not see her reflection, and she fights the training. _Yourself last. Order first. Always_.

“…fuck… me.”  


He graces her with two fingers, suddenly pushed into her cunt. They’re long, and fat, but not as good as his cock. The shunt is good, but now her clit is ignored, and it’s frustrating as fuck. She tries to push onto the fingers, but he’s banging them so hard inside of her that it’s all she can do to hold on. It’s almost _punishing_ , the way his knuckles graze her, and the wet slopslopslop noise of them tapping her inside just makes it so much hotter.

“ _Fuck me,”_ she begs, and then his fingers widen, angling, pressing against something spongy and hard at once.   


“Not yet,” he replies. “I’m not done, yet.”   


He holds her hands harder, and she tries to get the friction where she needs it, but it isn’t - quite - not quite… right… and… then his thumb shoves under the hood, rubbing her clit until it’s _agony_ , and she thinks she’s coming, but it’s hard to tell. It _hurts_ , but it’s _good_ , and her walls clench and squirt his fingers even wetter, and she just - _wants it, needs it, needs **him.**_

Kylo lets her hands go, but she doesn’t move them. Her palms go flat on the window, and she presents her ass further back, feet spreading to let him where he needs to be.

His fingers pull out, but splay her lips, and then he’s got his cock and it’s rubbing between his fingers, teasing at her hole.

“Kylo, _please_.”  


The thrust in would normally hurt, with how fierce it is, but it’s just blissful. She needs everything ramped up to insanity right now, and the feeling of being speared, spread, stuffed…

Her ass lifts, her back bowing, and she twitches from the fingers that stroke around her puckered entrance. Thrust, thrust, slam. She’s getting close again. and she reaches back with one hand, finding his hair, urging him faster.

Rut, rut, like hungry animals. It’s raw, and bloody, and perfect. The ache turns to pure, blissful fire, and she feels herself tense around him. He doesn’t let up at all, grinding her like she’s not a bundle of explosions and pure sensation. Slam, thrust, grind. Her heart wants to give out, but he’s still going. She’s not sure she can come again, but the feeling is still incredible. It’s so good, so good… and when he spills inside of her, she drops against the window.

“I… yes.” She’s gasping, her pulse still manic.  


“Whatever you need,” he promises, his kisses turning soft, now. “Always and forever.”  


She does feel better. Not fixed, but better.


	2. Chapter 2

She can feel him soften inside of her, but the way his body presses against her keeps his dick trapped in her passage. Her walls tense and ripple around him, and the familiar wetness of both their pleasure combined makes everything warm, sticky, one. 

There’s no risk, the Order sees to that, mixed in with food every morning. It doesn’t disregulate the drive - not in the senior staff, anyway - but the trickier by-products are taken out of her hands. There’ll be no little… whatever hair-colour offspring… around to distract either of them. She’s grateful that she can feel this without a barrier.

Her hands stay splayed into the transparisteel, her feet planted firmly. The pleasure - and pain - has crashed through her so fiercely, but her body locks defensively, refusing to yield, no matter how tired she is. Her knees set like duracrete, her body settling into a stable trifecta with the window and floor. 

The pounding of her heart is still a manic dance, but now the climax has ripped the top of her tension off, it’s like the storm has taken the roof away, and now she’s open to the elements. There’s no threat - right now - of more rain or wind… but she’s aware that the light trickling in won’t be so kind forever. She’ll need to rethatch herself before the morning, need to make another shield to protect her home inside of herself.

That will come in time. Maybe in an hour or so, when she’s vented enough of the steam in her out into the cooling air. When she’s felt enough - and it doesn’t even need to be anything _specific_ \- just **enough** \- to be ready to close herself back down. Pain, pleasure, fear, hope, anger, love. It’s all there, under the surface, waiting for the moment it can exist bigger than she is… and then go back to stewing, to brewing, to _waiting_.

Kylo is smart enough not to touch her clit any more, but his hand cups her lips, closing them around him, sealing them together. The dull ache of his rough coupling makes the insides of her thighs thud in memory, and she’s grateful that he’s smart enough not to keep teasing her now. Any more _would_ be uncomfortable, and whilst she’s not averse to pain per se, she doesn’t need any more. 

It was enough. Enough to - enough.

Behind her, his body cleaves to hers, his muscles and skin and bones moving to wrap her in a warm, breathing blanket. The closeness not of comrades who don’t care about brushing past one another in the ‘fresher, or sleeping pressed in close between exchanges of fire, but the closeness of someone who _cares_ , who _feels._ Someone she’s able to feel in front of, as well as… for. He’s taking his breathing slow and deep, her own falling into step a half-tick behind. His lungs are bigger, and need more in them. It’s basic biology, and that’s fine. 

His legs hold her up, even though she doesn’t need them to. He’s able to hold her, should she ever need to fall. She has no _desire_ to test - or prove - the theory, but the reassurance is good, all the same. 

After a moment, she feels his lips again. He’s kissing around the mark he’s left, the soft brush of those full lips grazing the edges of her pain. The bruise is barely anything to really register - she gets worse regularly - but this one is self-inflicted. Or, self-permitted. It’s one she craved, needed, and so the tingles of almost-hurt are like fire-crackers under her skin. He kisses solicitously, as if seeking forgiveness, when it’s her who should be asking for it. Asking for his compassion, considering the things she needed him to do. 

“I’m here,” he says, simply, as he works his way up her throat and to the soft place behind her ear.  


A simple statement, and one that - on the surface - is crushingly superfluous. 

But below, it means much more. It means he’s _here_. In this moment, not just in body. His mind is here, and he isn’t about to run out, or pass out, or pull out. He’s here. He’s _staying_. 

And that, for some reason, is what cracks the final barrier and has her fall against the window. Her breasts press awkwardly against the flat surface, and she scratches all over at the unyielding, clear void. He’s here. He knows. He knows how she feels, and he wants to _be here_ as she feels it. He’s - he - _cares_.

Suddenly cold, she puts a hand over his, pulling it away from her crotch. His kisses - so soft, so… _violent_ in how they trespass… make her head dizzy, her stomach zero-G.

“Bed,” she asks, or orders, or both. She wants it. She needs it.  


He nods, and slips from inside of her. The parting is bittersweet, but she thinks it’s worth it for the chance to cleave herself to his form, huddled under sheets. He’s not leaving. He - he - _knows_ , and he’s not leaving. 

She wonders if the roof will ever be the same again.


End file.
